


What's Left Unsaid Will Break Your Heart

by QueenMegaera



Series: Rumours [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Friendship, Gen, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:24:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenMegaera/pseuds/QueenMegaera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's one more twig thrown on the big bonfire of unspoken things blazing between them." </p>
<p>There are so many things that remain unsaid between Arthur and Merlin. Some of them are secrets. Others are just things that are too big to put into words.</p>
<p>A dark look at the Series Two finale. Previously posted on FF.net.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Left Unsaid Will Break Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is a closer look at (imho) one of the darkest episodes of Merlin, the series two finale "The Last Dragonlord". All the dialogue in here comes straight from that episode, so VERY MAJOR SPOILERS for series two. Though I would be very surprised if you haven't seen it already, I still have to say it.
> 
> This story can be seen as part of my “Rumours-verse” but it was written a couple of years before I started publishing that and is, as such, a standalone story.
> 
> Disclaimer: The boys, the plot and in this case even the dialogue all belong to BBC.

They are at an inn, in the middle of nowhere. They’ve come here pretending to be civilians – well, Arthur’s come here pretending to be a civilian, Merlin’s always been one and doesn’t have to pretend. (Which is a relief because he has enough pretending going on in his life already, thanks.) They haven’t found what they’re looking for. I fact, there’s no trace of it. No trace of _him_ – Merlin’s father. The thought Merlin had downstairs, that maybe Balinor was one of those horrid red faced men surrounding them, still haunts Merlin as he lies down to sleep. The thought that he knows nothing. He has never known anything of his father, of course, but he doesn’t think he’s ever spent as much thought on that fact as he has today.

There’s a rustle of fabric as Arthur takes off his tunic and, remembering that the prince is wounded, Merlin turns around to look. He knows Arthur will never tell him how bad it is so he has to see for himself.

The bandage around Arthur’s shoulder reminds Merlin of another time when it felt as if Camelot would crumble, though perhaps not as literally as this time around. It seems a long time ago, the Questing Beast and the fight against Nimueh; yet even then he had already known for a long time that he would die for Arthur. And even then, his own life had somehow managed to get in the way of things. His family. _His parents_.

Even as every fibre of Merlin’s body cries out in joy and longing at finally having a chance to meet his father, the thought crosses his mind that it would be so much easier to protect Arthur if he had never had a family of his own. If he could have lived to keep Arthur safe and nothing else, without any outside complications. And then he wonders when and why Arthur became his priority, making his own mother (and his father, he’s got a father) a _complication_ instead of the other way around. The young man seated on the other bed is certainly one big complication, from the mop of blonde hair to the slightly smelly feet that he’s pulling out of his boots. And that bloody bandage in between...

“What is wrong with you today?” Arthur asks.

“What?”

“Pains me to admit it, but I do enjoy your surly retorts. In fact, it’s probably your only redeemable feature.”

Under happier circumstances he would have soaked up the hidden compliment in that line like a sponge, and clung to it like a snail, but right now a hollow “Thanks” is all he can muster.

“There are loads of servants who can serve. So few are capable of making a complete prat of themselves,” Arthur carries on as he lies down. Then after a pause he says: “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s something. Tell me.”

_Tell me._ Tell Arthur. Tell Arthur about Balinor. Tell Arthur about the magic. A part of his mind screams at him to do it. But there is a dragon flying over Camelot killing its citizens because Merlin made a stupid promise and decided to keep it. Does Merlin tell Arthur about that? How? Mercifully, or cruelly, Merlin’s thoughts are interrupted by words he might never forget.

“All right. I know I’m a prince. So we can’t be friends.”

There’s something final in the way Arthur says that. Merlin wonders if the regret in Arthur’s voice is real or a product of his own imagination.

Arthur continues: “But if I wasn’t a prince ...” and Merlin finds his heart has not stopped beating.

“What?”

“Well, then ... I think we’d probably get on.”

Merlin thinks he might cry, which would certainly be beyond ridiculous.

“So?”

“So that means you can tell me.”

_Oh, Arthur_. Merlin wishes it was that simple.

“Well that’s true, but you see, if you weren’t a prince I’d tell you to mind you own damn business.”

“Merlin!” Merlin ignores Arthur’s half-honest, half-acted outrage. “Are you missing Gaius?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, what is it then!?”

Merlin sighs as Arthur’s pillow hits his head.

“I’ll tell you.”

The words slip out of his mouth without him even noticing how they got there. And there it is. He’s crossed the line. No turning back now. Either he tells Arthur, or he lies. Admittedly, that’s nothing new: he’s been lying to Arthur for a long, long time. But there’s a feeling in the air, something waiting in the space between the two beds. It’s all the unsaid things. They are being honest tonight. Arthur is being honest. If Merlin had ever dreamt of a perfect moment to tell Arthur, this is it. They’re not even in Camelot – if things backfire, Merlin could just run outside and there’d be no Uther there to execute him. The threat of death is momentarily gone and isn’t it that threat that has kept him from telling Arthur all this time?

On the other hand, if he doesn’t tell Arthur now, then it will be a long time before the chance arrives again. Maybe it never will. Maybe Merlin won’t get to tell, but Arthur will find out some other way and then he will remember this night, he will remember this and all the other times Merlin didn’t tell him. And Merlin doesn’t know how Arthur will react to his magic, but he knows how he’ll react to his lies. It won’t be pretty.

Merlin should tell him.

“I’m worried about everyone back in Camelot, I hope they’re alright,” he blurts out.

The moment is gone, and it feels as if a little piece of Merlin’s heart has gone away with it. It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. Once again he has chosen to stay with Arthur under the premise of a lie instead of taking the risk of being forced to leave. He had a chance to end the lies. Now, lie by lie, the lies are all he’s left with.

There are many things that have been left unsaid between him and Arthur, things that have been swept under the rug, things that they have both lied about. Arthur says they can’t be friends, and maybe that’s true. But they both know they’re already more. Morgana is fond of making jokes about Merlin’s affection for Arthur. She compares him to a lovesick girl. Merlin finds that idea faintly ludicrous. He’s not in love with Arthur. He loves Arthur. Arthur is his friend, his brother, his ... self. That bloody dragon might be a filthy liar, a monster that is tearing all of Camelot down as they speak, but he was right about one thing. Arthur and Merlin are two sides of the same coin, two parts of the same being. Arthur is part of him, and Merlin couldn’t change that now if he wanted to. They’d both die for the other. They’ve never said so, and they’d both deny it, but they have also both watched as the other man drank poison for them. Maybe they don’t need to hear the words.

IYîYîYîYI

 “I always thought that silence would be a blessing with you, but I find it just as irritating. You’re a riddle Merlin.” Merlin never knows if he should laugh or cry when Arthur makes these slightly-to-close-to-home remarks. But they are out in the woods now, and there’s sunlight and fresh air, and the current situation aside he feels closer to laughter, bitter as that laugh may be.

“A riddle?” he asks.

“Yes. But I’ve gotten to quite like you,” Arthur says, sounding quite pleased with himself.

“Yeah?”

“Now that I realise you’re not as big a fool as you look.”

Arthur pokes him in the side with a stick and Merlin wonders a bit – and not for the first time – about the prince’s mental age.

“Yeah, I feel the same. Now that I realise you’re not as arrogant as you sound.”

Well, would you believe it, he thinks, they’re actually saying some of those unspoken things, even if they are wrapped up in smoke and mirrors: “I like you” and “I feel the same”. And Merlin feels things shift and tremble around them and is unsure how much truth the world around them can take, not to mention their carefully balanced relationship.

“You still think I’m arrogant.”

“No,” Merlin says. “More ... supercilious”

Arthur looks surprised and amused. There, Merlin thinks. Balance is restored to the universe. But the things that have shifted during this trip of theirs remain shifted. The universe is in balance but it’s ever so slightly different – Arthur doesn’t say: “you can’t speak to me like that” this time. It’s been a long time since either of them believed that sentence, but it needed to be said because those were the rules. That is not in the rules anymore. But the need for a retort still is:

“That’s a big word Merlin! Sure you know what it means?”

“Condescending.”

“Very good.”

“Patronizing.” Merlin mutters, but he’s enjoying this: it’s just like old times. It’s a chance to forget that the old times aren’t going to come back, that his father is a mean hermit, and that Camelot is burning and it’s all because of him.

“It doesn’t quite mean that ...” Arthur says.

“No, these are other things you are!” Merlin informs him.

“Hang on!”

“Overbearing, very overbearing ...”

Arthur’s hushing him, but he’s got into this now.

“Merlin!” Arthur hisses, and his tone has switched from “prat” to “knight”.

“You wanted me to talk!”

Then Merlin hears the sounds of someone approaching too, and the moment is over. He grabs the sword by his side and stands up. In those moments before the sight of his father pushes all thoughts of Arthur to the side he wonders, not for the first time, if this was the last friendly banter he and Arthur would get to have.

IYîYîYîYI

 “Well, look at it from the bright side, Merlin,” Arthur says, “chances are you won’t have to clean this again.”

It would break Merlin’s heart if the events of the last days hadn’t crushed it already.

“You must be careful today. Do not force the battle.”

“Yes, sire!” Arthur jokes.

“I’m serious!”

“I can hear _that_.”

“Let matters take their course.”

“Merlin, if I die, please ...”

 “What?”

Oh, no. Don’t go there.

There’s silence. And then Arthur turns around to face him. When he speaks, his tone has changed.

“The Dragonlord today. I saw you.”

There’s silence again and the part of Merlin’s mind that’s always on guard wonders if it’s the magic Arthur’s seen, but if it were, he doubts this would be how the talk would go down. Arthur looks at him with an expression Merlin can’t read, or maybe he can but dares not, and all the unsaid things are hanging between them, like fog, or like the oppressive heat before a thunderstorm, trembling, waiting for the storm that must eventually come.

“One thing I tell all my young knights. No man is worth your tears.” And that’s funny because Arthur sounds like he’s holding tears back. And Merlin might be too, but he goes the other way, puts on his usual smile, or tries to, and jokes:

“You’re certainly not!”

It comes out a bit too cheerful, he can hear that himself. Forced. He ignores it, and so does Arthur. It’s one more twig thrown on the big bonfire of unspoken things blazing between them. Other things have just been added to that fire: _“Don’t cry over me ‘cause I couldn’t bear it”_ is left unsaid, and it’s a big old log that burns brightly and quickly with a heat that dries out your eyes and bring out tears. _“If you’re not worth my tears, then there’ll never be a reason for me to cry even if all of Camelot burns to the ground”_ is left unsaid, and oh god, it’s an entire oak tree, huge and ancient and still alive as the flames lick the sky.

But then again, Merlin’s not sure he _would_ cry it Arthur died. If Arthur died, Merlin would lash out with every ounce of magic he’s got in him, kill everyone and everything close to them, burning whoever had caused Arthur’s death to ashes, all while he would burn himself up from the inside. And then he’d die. There’s no life without Arthur. He can’t imagine it, because it simply cannot be. If Arthur dies, he dies. They’re one and the same.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asks in disbelief as they both step towards the door.

“I’m coming with you.” You should know that by now, Arthur, really.

“Merlin, chances are I’m going to die.” The fact that Arthur manages to say this in a patronizing way is such a large part of why Merlin loves him.

“Yeah. Yeah, you probably would if I wasn’t there.”

“Right ...”

“Do you know how many times I’ve had to save your royal backside?”

Through jokes and banter they are both treading dangerously close to the fire know. Unsaid things are dancing on their lips, threatening to be spoken.

“Well at least you’ve got your sense of humour back!”

Arthur gives him a look and continues in a more serious tone:

“Are you really going to face this dragon with me?”

“I’m not gonna sit here and watch.”

Arthur is incredulous.

“I know it’s hard for you to understand how I feel,” Merlin says, “but ...”

The look Arthur gives him makes Merlin think he might have been listening a bit too much to Morgana’s jokes.

“... well, I care a hell of a lot about that armour, I’m not gonna let you mess it up.”

Arthur laughs, and Merlin laughs, and just like that the tension is gone; it’s old times again, just once more, only for a couple of seconds and Merlin would give his soul to be able to hang on to it just a little while longer. Then their eyes meet, and unsaid things shine in Arthur’s eyes. But he punches Merlin on the shoulder and starts to leave and as always, the unsaid remains unsaid and Merlin reminds himself of what he already knows – that it’s too late now, too late for unsaid things to make things better; that by now, speaking up will only make things worse.

So actions will speak when words cannot, and Merlin follows Arthur out. Because where Arthur goes, there Merlin will be.

As they sit up on their horses, a few of the knights give him curious looks, but no one says anything. They have got used to Merlin joining them in all sorts of escapades, but it’s clear to him that a lot of them thought this would not be one of those times. Merlin says nothing, but glances at Arthur’s stone cold face, a perfect mask of leadership and determination. He thinks of laughter and little smiles and offended frowns and hopes he’ll get to see all those considerably less noble expressions on the prince’s face again, because at some point they became what Merlin lives for.

And then, suddenly, they’re off.

IYîYîYîYI

Arthur’s gasp of breath behind him let’s Merlin know the prince is still alive. It should heal Merlin’s broken heart, but instead it feel like an iron boot stamping on the shreds of it.

“What happened?” Arthur asks, and Merlin looks at him. It’s not a matter of deciding whether or not to lie, anymore. Merlin knows exactly what to say.

“You dealt him a mortal blow.”

“He’s gone ...”

“Yeah.” Merlin takes a breath to keep his voice steady. “You did it.”

And there it is, the smile that could light up all of Camelot, and a little half-shout-half-laughter of joy, relief and disbelief. Arthur throws himself back on the ground, raises his arms in the air, and makes that wonderful, hilarious sound again. “Hah!” He laughs, and Merlin feels himself laugh along with him, albeit silently and not wholeheartedly.

“You did it,” he says, as much to himself as to Arthur.

Whatever dust and gravel was left of his heart has been blown away by the wind, his heart is gone, there’s nothing but a hole in his chest. But it’s alright, because he can feel Arthur’s heart beating in there, and for as long as the unsaid things remain unsaid, Arthur’s heart will keep him going. He knows it won’t be forever; most likely it won’t be long at all, and when Arthur finds out, when Arthur leaves him, that hole in his chest will grow and pull him in and leave him in darkness.

But for now, Arthur lies on the grassy slope laughing, and the sight and the sound of him keeps the darkness at bay.


End file.
